


A Welcomed Distraction

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:11:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request for Dean distracting Castiel as he works at Gas n' Sip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Welcomed Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly porn.

“C’mon, you’ve been done with work for three hours. Give it up, dude.”

The skin between Castiel’s brows crinkles as he concentrates on the spreadsheet in front of him, scanner held in one hand as he categorizes the night’s profits and losses. His nose crinkles every time he charts an anomaly in his calculations, momentarily moving around the counter and checking whether the item has actually been sold.

Dean is getting tired of waiting. Castiel had promised he’d be done in fifteen minutes, but that was over two hours ago. Devotion to work should only go so far.

“I’ll be done in another minute, Dean.”

Dean sighs, sliding his head back into his palm. Castiel had said that forty five minutes ago.

“Fine,” Dean mutters, resigning his more carnal wishes to quietly whistling in the Gas n’ Sip.

That minute, as expected, turns to five, to ten, to a half hour longer than promised.  Castiel does finish his spreadsheets after about ten minutes, but as soon as he signs the little slip indicating their completeness,  he pushes away from the desk, merely stating, “I should tidy the floors before we head out.”

“For Christ’s sake, Cas we-”

“Patience is a virtue, Dean.” The damn bastard smirks at him before ducking through the back door where his belongings are residing untouched and completely away from his mind. Fuck, Dean’s getting _really_ tired of this shit.

Castiel’s hips swivel as he disappears into the backroom, as though leaving some cruel temptation hanging in the air is intentional on his part. Dean swallows down a not-so-sudden bout of arousal and squirms in his chair.

It’s not something new to Dean, this clenching of hidden impulses. Especially regarding his own personal angel. Given the history between them, and there is _plenty_ of it, Dean should be glad he even gets to talk to Cas like this, like they’ve been doing it so casually all of their lives. And Dean supposes that’s true, but sometimes libido is just something that can’t be ignored.

He swings his legs over the ‘Employee’s Only’ side of the counter and follows his companion into the back, motivated by both desperation to spend some time with his friend and a slowly blooming hardness demanding at least proximity to the former angel.

Pushing through the swiveling door as cautiously as possible, Dean sees Castiel with a wet rag in his hand, scrubbing fervently at the cutlery tables.

“Cas, you said you weren’t doing any more work,” Dean grumbles petulantly. He’ll admit that he’s acting like a child, but _come on,_ it was his and Cas’s day to kick ass and take names.

“I won’t be doing any more work after I finish my assigned duties,” the fucker replies, a grimace turning the corners of his lips downward. He shifts so the recipient of his attentive cleaning is the oven, which to be honest was shining bright enough that Dean would hazard licking it to prove its cleanliness.  

“Yeah, well, too bad.” Dean plants his palms on the edge of the oven and hoists himself atop the appliance, situating himself just enough in the middle of everything that Cas is unable to continue his cleaning.

He receives an angry frown followed by a stern crossing of arms and an almost toddler-like glare. It would be laughable, and he does laugh, if Castiel would just fucking _bend him over and take what Dean’s offering._

“I know what you’re pulling,” Cas mutters, eyes focused directly on Dean’s. It sends waves of shivers down his spine and he can’t help the small twitch his shoulders elicit in response. “It’s not going to work.”

“And what exactly am I pulling, Cas?”

“You _know,_ assbutt.”

Dean puts on his best bedroom eyes and splays his signature smirk across his lips before answering his best friend’s accusation. Shifting his hand as subtly as possible, and leaning as far into Cas’s personal space as much as concealment allows, he lets his words breeze past Castiel’s lips, letting his voice catch in a soft purr as he trails off.

“Then why don’t you give me what I want, angel?”

Slowly, he leans towards Castiel’s face until their noses mash together, their lips slotting in an almost seamless fashion. He lets his tongue roll over Cas’s lower lip, nibbling on it mildly before extrapolating himself from the contact.

Castiel chases after him, he can see it. His hands jerk over Dean’s hips; the mere fact that they’ve wondered as far was proof enough that Castiel wanted _something_.

So he gives it to him.

Dean pulls out of his best friend’s grasp, winking at the mild shock in Castiel’s eyes at the action. Before Cas can offer an alternative that involves staying at the fucking gas station until God knows when, Dean shrugs out of his jacket and sweater, leaving himself bare from the waist up.

Castiel’s eyes draw tantalizing patterns over Dean’s skin, visibly darkening within seconds of its exposure. It takes but a moment for Castiel’s mouth to land back onto Dean’s skin, sliding down his neck, suckling at the hollow behind his clavicle, teeth grazing at his nipple. Dean takes it all and then some, allowing his hips to cant towards Cas, allowing himself to writhe beneath the touch of his angel. Strong hands move to the softer flesh of Dean’s stomach, scratching downwards until they hover over his jeans. He hesitates briefly, fingers stilling midair for less than a second before they’re untangling the button from the fabric and drawing them down Dean’s legs to bunch at his feet.

Those hands make their way back to Dean’s hips, his mouth still nibbling and biting at Dean’s body with increased tenacity. His tongue flicks out every so often, sending waves of pleasure radiating throughout Dean’s body. But that pleasure is replaced by momentary shock, when Cas lifts him off the counter and spins him in a half circle, tugging his boxers over his ass before pressing him against the cool counter top. Then the warmth of Cas’s body disappears.

“Cas…” Dean whines, shimmying his bare ass in the general direction of where the slight rustling is originating. He hears an impatient grunt in response, indicative of the mutual impatience Castiel is feeling at his own inability to disrobe any faster.

He doesn’t have to wait long, however; the warm weight of Castiel’s body pressed against his spine, lips brushing over the knob of bones at the base of his neck. Slowly, his mouth wanders further and further lower, until chaste kisses are being pushed over the cleft of his ass.

Then the lips are gone and Dean peeks over his shoulder.

He’s greeted with the image of a flushed Castiel, pupils completely encompassing the normal blue hue of his irises with the girth of his arousal. He lets his eyes drift further and further downwards, noting that Castiel has completely disrobed, all the way down to his pale bare toes. Dean almost smirks at Castiel’s innocence, well, not innocence but rather traditionalism. He almost smirks, but Castiel’s lips steal any thought from his mind as they press against the sensitive skin of his hole.

And he bucks into Castiel’s touch, searching for the intrusion he _knows_ he’ll get. And he does; Castiel’s tongue lashes out and prods at the puckered flesh, dipping in after tasting all of Dean, after lapping at all of that delicate skin.

He thrusts into Dean with reckless abandon, pushing and twitching until Dean feels himself undiluted under the capable hands of his best friend. When he meets Castiel’s thrusts with backwards grinds, Castiel removes himself completely from any contact with Dean, leaving only a gaping emptiness in his wake.

“Cas, come back,” Dean pleads; hell, Dean can hear the begging his voice has taken an affinity for. He doesn’t care, he’s too far gone to care.

He’s answered by a deep chuckle and a pair of flat, wide hands guiding his hips backwards until the hot, wet pressure of Cas’s dick is pressed fully against his hole, threatening to breach past that first ring of muscle at any second.

So he grinds backwards, moaning when Castiel thrusts forward, slipping into Dean with accidental lust.

And so he goes. Castiel’s grip on Dean’s hips tightens and he pulls Dean backwards with every jerk and twitch and jump his hips give, no matter how erratic or how minute they are. His pushes grow more and more chaotic, seeping out of that slow, sweet rhythm and breaking into a tempo that drives them both up a wall, curling his toes every time Castiel hits in just the right spot with just the right amount of force.

Soon enough, Castiel’s grip slackens altogether, his hands sliding from Dean’s hips to the underside of his belly. The flushed weight of Castiel presses into Dean’s back, the new angle forcing each lunge straight into Dean’s prostate.

He comes with a cry, shuddering as Castiel continues his plundering.

Castiel doesn’t take much longer, the aftershocks of Dean’s orgasm squeezing over Castiel’s. The delicious tightness of Dean pushing him over and over until he shoves into Dean one last time, hips quaking as warm stripes of come spout from his cock.

They slump over one another for a few moments, recovering their breaths and gathering their bearings before even making the attempt to stand on wobbly legs. Castiel winds an arm around Dean’s waist as he stands, urging Dean up and aware despite the continuous throb his hole gives every few moments.

Castiel redresses first, leaving his work vest behind when Dean glares at it with a rage he can’t real in despite his best efforts. When he finishes, he turns to Dean and buttons his jeans back over his hips, tucks him back into the soft Henley he borrowed from Sam.

Just as he finishes dressing completely, pulling the jacket over his shoulders himself, he finds Cas staring at him with a somewhat amused smirk, if one can really call it that, spread over his features.

“What?” Dean asks, curious of his friend’s thoughts.

“There will be a day when your pestering doesn’t work, Winchester.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Cas, but you kind of caved right away.”

Castiel shoots him a glare, but Dean can see the smile in his eyes. He takes his angel’s hand and leads him out of the backroom, pulling him through the swivel door and over the counter that leads to the consumers’ area. He tugs him out the door and urges him toward the impala, smiling at his somewhat confused friend as he does so. When Castiel’s head tilts in his trademark question, Dean offers a nod and swoops down to peck him on his stubbly cheek. He pulls away, letting his lips linger beside the angel’s ear.

“Let’s go home, Cas.”


End file.
